


Just another Wednesday

by StAnni



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Break Up, Complicated Relationships, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 12:21:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17849384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StAnni/pseuds/StAnni
Summary: They have been together for almost a year.  Granted, there has been times when it has been touch and go.  But they certainly, surely, have been together-together for, at the very least, ten months.





	Just another Wednesday

Stiles bites the side of his thumb, his elbow on the table between them. Derek recognises the nervous tick, the way that Stiles’ gaze, lashes down turned, rests deceptively quiet on the linoleum. They are meeting at the warehouse behind the police station and it is empty because no-one but Derek is supposed to be there yet.   
“You should have slept in.” Derek tries after Stiles, apart from a quick peck hello before, doesn’t say much further. “You came in late last night…”

Still nothing.

Stiles takes his finger from his lips and lets his palm lay millimetres from Derek’s hand, curled around the cup of coffee. His eyes are still on the table – his mind everywhere else.   
Derek, although he wants to – the invitation being there, doesn’t reach to take Stiles’ hand. They are at work. They have rules.

“What time is Scott getting here?” Stiles asks and it is not innocuous, that is for sure – more as if he is attempting to assess something. Derek can feel the wrinkle of a frown flash across his face and he shakes his head with a shrug “Like, an hour. What time is it now?” 

Stiles doesn’t look at his watch but finally lifts his eyes to Derek’s – calm but guarded, different, but certainly not alarming.   
“Everything okay?” Derek asks, again, because he asked it fifteen minutes ago when Stiles slid through the door, uncharacteristically early.

Again, Stiles doesn’t answer, or give a definitive answer, but simply glances to the side, and then down again. “Hey…” Derek says, trying to reel in Stiles’ attention again and Stiles sighs, leans back. “I’m not sure. That’s the thing.” Derek stiffens slightly. 

He leans back as well – eyes on Stiles now, watching for any indication, clue, sign of whatever may be causing this situation.

“I mean, I’m not sure just because, I’m not sure about what this is.”  
Stiles says almost as if it is actually a question – and this time, to his credit, there is some innocence to it – like he genuinely seems confused.   
He shouldn’t be.   
There is no reason to be. 

They have been together for almost a year. Granted, there has been times when it has been touch and go. But they certainly, surely, have been together-together for, at the very least, ten months. 

“I don’t get it. Explain.” Derek says, finally – because when it comes to games, or when it comes to most things, he likes it fair, with rules, black and white – no guesswork.

“I came in late last night because I hooked up with someone.” Stiles says, now not looking at Derek anymore but picking at the table, his thumb bouncing softly, up and down. “At their place. Which is why I came…late to your apartment.”

His apartment. Not their apartment.

Stiles doesn’t look up and Derek, the cup burning against his fingers, is glad he doesn’t.

Stiles is not a bad person. Stiles is, above all else, kind, and sensitive and despite being a classic only-child at times, usually considerate.   
It is a strange thing to be wrong about yourself, or at least, to be wrong about how someone else sees you.   
Perhaps, no, perhaps the strange thing is, is to be wrong about something, rather than someone. To be wrong about love, just love, is a cold, heavy stone that pulls your heart down into the pit of your stomach, it is a rush of embarrassed disappointment that whips through your veins like fire. 

And here it was just supposed to be another Wednesday.

So when Stiles does look up, and when he waits, his eyes so open – so ready for whatever Derek can ever say – Derek is the one who looks away, who lifts his coffee to his mouth so that no words an escape before he is ready, before his mind has turned on auto-pilot.   
“So what do you want me to say?” Derek asks, finally – his voice as even as he can muster, but at least without any trace of bitterness, any resentment.  
Stiles blinks and shakes his head, at a loss. “I guess I wanted to tell you. And to…I don’t know…I thought you’d want to know.”

“Well I haven’t slept with anyone since, you know.” Derek admits, maybe a little bitterly, but he keeps it plain, as if he is stating a fact about the weather.   
And it feels good – like pressing on a bruise, and to Stiles’ surprised look he can see that at the very least, Stiles seems to feel a bit guilty, a little shocked. It’s death, but it’s fine.

“For all this time?” Stiles asks and Derek doesn’t say anything else. His throat suddenly feels thick and he wants to leave. So he shrugs and looks away.

Stiles moves his chair back as Derek gets up and tosses the coffee, still lukewarm, into the sink of the kitchenette. Somewhere a door opens and Scott walks into the warehouse.

“Derek, just a minute…” Stiles tries quietly, but Derek gives him a quick shake of his head “Nope. No need.” and leaves.

Derek is not a catch. He has a short fuse and a shitty apartment. He has a family that may as well have been spawned by demons and enemies around every corner. He spends his free time, when he is not fucking a boyfriend that he didn’t even know he never had, trying to block out the reality of his very dangerous and quite possibly limited existence.

Derek is not a catch, for sure. But the last thing he is, he will be damned to be, is a fool.


End file.
